


take a breath that's true

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, Massage, resolves sexual tension, romantic saps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 06:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: Lou offers Debbie a massage. Things...happen.





	take a breath that's true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blanchtt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/gifts).



> Pt. 2 of my gift for blanchtt at the Ocean's 8 Gift Exchange! Hope you enjoy this little thing <3

They're laughing again.

Lou is bent at the waist, almost falling off from where she sits on their kitchen table, legs dangling, fringe falling into her eyes as she laughs in that ringing way Debbie hasn't heard for a while now. She is happy again.

They are happy again.

It's been a dry period, no jobs, scrapping money out of other people’s pockets like they haven't been there and done that and climbed higher up the scale alongside each other. A period of nervousness and cutting throats. A partnership that had nothing to live off.

But not today. Today, they have broken loose and done something—not spectacular, but brilliant; not too lucrative, but enough to excite. A brand of cons that Danny always called _The Hobbies_ : small and fun and not demanding, a brief respite from being a professional. She always wondered if Danny had other kinds of hobbies—like watching football, but only on Thanksgiving, curled on a couch with a glass of wine and not understanding a single thing that was happening, but making bets with Lou anyway; like going to museums just to look, remembering nothing but the way it felt and how invested Lou was in it all; like knowing too much about a movie _just because_ , and maybe, sometimes, it's not even a movie _she_ likes, but Lou does. They’ve never talked about that.

They don't talk much, nowadays.

But Lou is laughing, and Debbie has been laughing with her, because it feels good, today. Now she watches from the side, leaning against the wooden counter and fiddling with a bag of potatoes lying on top of it as the laughter that was bubbling in her chest dies off and turns to a tight longing with the sight of Lou panting out of joy, brushing hair behind her ear.

*

_"How's…Eleanor, was it?"_

_"How should I know?"_

_"Weren't you—?"_

_"Having sex?"_

_"I thought you liked her."_

_"It wasn't serious, Deb."_

_"Just trying to make conversation."_

_"Well, we can talk about much more interesting stuff than my hookups."_

_"Don't you ever want it to be serious?"_

_"Don't know. Not now."_

*

"You know," Lou's voice is hoarse from the deep glee that burst through it, not for a moment too long, and she is smiling bright at Debbie. "If there was one skill-set I thought would never come up in my life as a con…"

Debbie rips a thread off the bag, giggles and shakes her head and smiles and makes a good pretense of not thinking about anything else. "While I, on the other hand, always knew I'd use a professional masseuse in a job."

"Yeah? It's on your bucket list?"

"Number three. I'm actually upset you never told me, until now."

"A real masseuse never reveals herself."

"So you won't have to get your hands on people's dirty backs for free, huh?"

"Exactly."

Lou takes a deep breath, exhales the last remains of laughter still lodged in her lungs . She sighs, then, looks at Debbie, still glowing. Debbie almost forgets how to speak. Had almost forgotten what _this_ felt like, but now she has been reminded, and she almost forgets about anything else.

"What?" Lou asks, tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

Debbie shrugs, says, "I thought I knew everything about you," but doesn't really mean it. Means to say: _I've missed you like this,_ and _tell me more about yourself._

It feels incredibly lonely, sometimes, being a con artist. Guarding anything that might be used against you like sharing yourself is not a natural part of life. She and Lou are not as guarded as they should be, as partners in crime, she knows, and still. Debbie is constantly reminded that whatever it is that they are doing only goes so far.

Lou winks at her. "What would be the fun in that?"

*

_She almost went for it. They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in that dark alley and the security guard was not supposed to be there and it would have been the perfect excuse to cover Lou's body with her own and kiss her and say, "a distraction."_

_Every con she knows has used that trick and it never was truly because it's a good distraction. But Debbie doesn't want excuses. Just wants to cover Lou's body with her own and kiss her and say, "I've been wanting to do this forever, now."_

_She had resisted the urge, had resisted the perfect set-up, had resisted the way her heart climbed up to her throat just thinking about it. Followed the signals Lou had drawn with her hands and ended up walking just around a security guard who was distracted by the sound of a rattling fence._

_Debbie had no idea Lou could jump a fence so quickly._

*

She would have ended up deeper inside her head if Lou didn't ask for some water. Handing it to her, Debbie lingers aimlessly in her proximity, sneaking a glance at her stretched neck and how it works as she drinks while Lou's foot accidently brushes her thigh.

"Do you want one?" Lou examines her curiously. Debbie quirks an eyebrow at her, sure-but-not-entirely of what she's talking about and mostly unwilling to reveal her cards. "A massage," Lou clarifies, laying the bottle of water behind her on the table, then cracking her knuckles. "I don't mind."

"Why are you asking?"

"You're the kind that holds tension in their shoulders."

"Pegging me like that, are you?"

"I can see it." Debbie swallows as Lou reaches out, wrapping fingers around her shoulder and squeezing lightly. "It's all here."

She holds Lou's eyes, refusing to be the one to acknowledge her own stress, right now. "I don't like massages."

"It's a good thing you lie for a living."

Lou squeezes again, lips curling up as Debbie's eyes flutter over it.

"I don't like strangers touching me."

"Good thing I'm not a stranger."

_No, you're so much worse than a stranger._ Debbie inhales, sharp and sudden, as Lou finds a spot that makes it all feel _good_ with the tips of her fingers. She could walk away, and she could bat Lou's hand away, and she could sharpen her edges back to cynicism and end this right here and now. But she could also let her body decide.

"I'll give you five minutes to change my mind," she says, voice coming out almost too weak.

"Or you could give me an hour to change your life."

"You're overly confident."

Lou chuckles, takes her hand away, spreads her legs wider and straightens her back. "Come here, turn around."

A moment, two. Silence and heartbeats and Debbie wonders—wonders if there is even a chance that this is affecting Lou in the same way it is affecting her, and if it does, wonders if there is even a chance that it's not just because Lou would gladly fuck her.

Then, Debbie lets go, slow and careful and with an eyeroll to distract, not sure what her plan here is, exactly—lets her body decide. Lets a strange desire take over her and throws caution to the wind.

*

_The walls are thin, and Lou is loud tonight; telling the woman she brought home how good she's making her feel, breathing pretty little moans out. Debbie reaches deeper inside and bites down on her pillow and—_

*

"There," Lou's voice is low, as if accustomed to this intimate position; on the verge of tempting but not quite there—almost gentle.

It's a strange sensation and Debbie's not sure how to process it. They've shared casual touches, they've been in each other's personal space often enough, danced their strange dance of partners-in-crime-but-not-just; standing with her back to Lou, though, having Lou's thighs bracket her and closing her eyes against the intensity of it all, having Lou's hands run over her shoulders and back as if mapping, gentle and precise and full of intent—that's not something that Debbie has ever had time to get used to.

Lou presses and releases, rubs and uses the heel of her palm and her thumb and asks, "How does that feel?" with her lips too close to Debbie's ear.

"Not too shabby," Debbie tries, but her voice is gruff and telling. Lou hums in self-congratulation, satisfied with herself, and slides her hand up until her fingers are carded through Debbie's hair and she is working on her scalp, her other hand balancing Debbie by her hip.

"You never relax."

"I resent that statement."

"Do you?" There's a hand just under her breasts, now, holding her, and one just under her shoulder blade, fingers digging into a spot that Debbie's not sure should _ever_ make her feel _that_.

She sighs, unexpected. "I take a bath once a week."

"You also spend three nights in a row that same week awake."

*

_There are nights when they are drunk in bars and Lou looks at nobody but her, and Debbie does wonder what it would be like to have Lou like that every night._

_"When was the last time you had sex?" Lou asks her, swirling her Vodka-Tonic and smirking with a quirk of her eyebrow._

_Debbie leans back in her seat, huffs, "Can't remember."_

_"I can. It was 102 days ago."_

_"You keep count?"_

_"I worry."_

_"Do you?"_

_Lou hums, closes her eyes and drinks a quarter of her drink. "You worry too much about everything but yourself, someone has to."_

_Debbie's heart is beating so furiously she wonders if Lou can hear it over the loud music._

_"And sex would solve what, exactly?"_

_"Nothing. I just think you deserve to be satisfied."_

_"Do you?"_

_Lou hums again. "If you want that."_

_They look at each other in that way that sometimes makes Debbie wonder if she's the only one who feels something different between the two of them. "I won't lie."_

_Lou lays her drink down, cranes her neck and looks around. "What do you like?"_

_Debbie takes a deep breath, doesn't say the truth._

_*_

"I'm working," she protests.

Lou hums, doubtful. "You could take it slower, from time to time."

Debbie's about to reply, but Lou searches and searches and then the heel of her palm finds a knot; words die out on Debbie's tongue as Lou works it from pain to pleasure. She bites her lip for as long as she can, but Lou keeps _doing it_ , and her throat works out a noise that she cannot control, making Lou momentarily freeze.

She breathes slowly in and out, wants to say, "Stop." But also wants to plead, wants Lou to touch her and touch her more, and touch her _there_ , and—

Unable to think properly, Debbie brings her hands up to Lou's thighs, holds on as her legs threaten to shake, eyes falling shut as Lou moves again, assured by Debbie's reaction, works her muscles like a charm. Lou squeezes her thighs around her, digs into the same spot again while the hand on Debbie's stomach stays steady and warm and maddeningly tender; murmurs, "We can do this properly," hot breath at the top of Debbie's head.

She slides closer to Debbie on the table, and Debbie almost has enough air in her to ask if she's really talking about the massage, or if she's feeling this too—if she is burning, longing, aching. If she knows what she's doing to Debbie, at least. It must be obvious.

"Lou," she finds it in herself to whisper, needs to know what this means to her, because she can't take much more.

Lou slides both hands back to Debbie's shoulders, moving them much less purposefully than before.

"Do you want to leave?" she asks, sounds as insecure as Debbie has ever heard her.

"Depends."

She can't imagine what Lou might do until Lou sighs, takes her hands away. There's a pause that makes Debbie's stomach churn, and then—"This isn't just a massage anymore," Lou admits, contrite. Her voice is shaking; the only thing that isn't shaking right now are her thighs under Debbie's palms.

_Jesus,_ Debbie thinks. _Breathes_ and leans back as far as she can, squeezes Lou's thighs and says, "Please."

Lou's very still until she isn't still at all: wraps two arms around Debbie, brings her lips to Debbie's cheek, doesn't even wait for Debbie to turn her head and meet her before she opens them and kisses, wet, wherever she can. When Debbie does bring their mouths together, Lou whimpers, quiet and everything that Debbie has ever wanted to feel while kissing; bunches Debbie's shirt in a fist. Debbie brings one hand up to Lou's hair, threads her fingers and holds and kisses Lou with abandon.

Her chest is cracking with how unbelievable this all is to her. With how tight Lou has wounded her. With how much she didn't let herself fully realize that she _wants_ Lou.

"Touch me," she breathes when they break apart, licks Lou's bottom lip, can't stop.

"Here?"

"Please."

Lou slides her hand under Debbie's shirt first, scratches lightly at her stomach, runs fingers up her sides, making Debbie lean more of her weight back on Lou as she uses her free hand to undo her own pants.

Lou takes the hint, breathes heavy and brushes her lips against Debbie's jaw as she slides her hand lower, under Debbie's panties, warm fingers finding damp curls and—

Lou moans, scrapes her teeth desperately against Debbie's jaw. "I thought about this," she says as her fingers make Debbie buck against her hand. Debbie cranes her neck and tries to kiss her, says her name to make Lou help.

Lou does, captures Debbie's mouth and whispers, "I thought about this so many times," against it before cutting Debbie's weak whine off with a kiss. Debbie has no time to think about that. Can't even comprehend that.

Lou's fingers run through her wetness, making Debbie arch her back and pant, then up to Debbie's clit, rubbing slow circles, limited by Debbie's tight Jeans. It can't be comfortable to her, but she does what she can and says nothing; Debbie can barely keep still.

Her hand tightens in Lou's hair instinctively, and she breaks their kiss because she can't take everything in at once. "Why didn't you say?"

"Didn't want to lose you."

"How—" Debbie gasps, shuts her eyes tight. "How could you ever lose me?"

"I—"

Debbie twists until Lou's hands are out of her pants and she can face Lou, pulls Lou of the table and they are flush against each other. "You can't," she says, zealous, rapt in the shiver that goes through Lou's spine. "You can't," she repeats, brings two palms to Lou's cheeks and kisses her, again, again, again.

She doesn't know how either one of them could have been so stupid as to think the other didn’t want the same thing, or doubt their connection, or believe that there is anything is the world that could make them walk away from the other when they have been sticking together through thick and thin since their first con.

But it doesn't matter, right now, because Debbie's been wet since a minute into this massage and Lou's _touching her_ , wrapping an arm over Debbie's back and sliding her lips down to Debbie's neck and sneaking her other hand back into Debbie's panties.

She needs this before she can do anything else, needs this before she can think of anything else.

"Bed, maybe," Debbie croaks. Lou groans her agreement.

They stumble and reach Debbie's room on Lou's directions, and Debbie doesn't think about why Lou would go there even though her own room is closer because it doesn't _matter_ ; just pulls Lou over her onto her bed before they can lose more than their socks and shirts, works quickly on Lou's belt and pants.

"Why did you offer the massage?" Debbie asks, smiles as the question makes Lou smile.

"A whim," Lou admits, and—"But you _are_ tense."

"Think I'm gonna be very relaxed very soon."

"I hope I don't disappoint."

They settle on their sides, facing each other, both pants around their ankles and hands down each other's underwear. Too impatient for anything else.

Lou's so wet she's dripping, and her eyes flutter shut, her fingers twitching where they're working on Debbie's clit as Debbie teases her a bit, because she's been teased for far too long to not get Lou back, even if it's just a not-nearly-satisfying-enough brush of fingers against her inner lips.

When they find their rhythm it's heaven. As close to heaven as a quick, desperate fuck can be. Lou has Debbie's bottom lip held lightly between her teeth, a wrinkle between her brows and an underlying keen to her breaths; Debbie thinks that even if Lou stops, even if all she did was watch Lou come like this, she would be more satisfied than she has been in _years_.

But Lou works her quick and hard, a thumb rubbing at her nipple, and Debbie can't keep her eyes open anymore, doesn't know what to focus on—Lou's pleasure or her own—realizes that she doesn't need to choose, not really; listens to Lou and rubs the way that makes Lou bite at her lip harder, grinds against Lou's fingers and almost sobs.

She comes first, hard and explosive, surprised she has lasted this long to begin with, crushes her mouth against Lou's because she doesn't want to say anything as it happens. Lou squeezes her thighs around Debbie's hand and makes her stop until she rides the last wave of her orgasm, until she sighs and opens her eyes blearily to see Lou watching over her in wonder, clears hair off Lou's forehead and says, "Open your legs, let me."

With a push at her shoulder, Lou rolls over to her back, pushes her pants off her ankles and spreads her legs wide, head thrown back and hands above it, muscles jumping as Debbie settles between her thighs, head leveled with her stomach.

She doesn't waste much time with words.

Lou sighs her name, and some incoherent mumbles, and arches and squirms and urges Debbie on. Says, "You are a dream," and, "so many times."

It doesn't take too much for her first orgasm to hit.

But Debbie looks up, sees Lou clutching at the headboard, dives back in and smiles against Lou as Lou curses and pushes _up_ and—

*

_"What do you want for dinner?"_

_Debbie looks up from their mark's file, blinks at Lou, who is standing near the counter with a cup of steaming-hot coffee in her hand. "Dinner?"_

_"It's seven."_

_"Is it?"_

_Lou rolls her eyes. Picks another mug off the counter. "Here," she walks over, hands the tea she's made to Debbie._

_"Thanks."_

_"So, dinner?"_

_"Pizza?"_

_"Good with me. I'll order." Leaning over Debbie's shoulder, Lou asks, "How did I do with the file?"_

_Debbie blows her tea, looks at Lou from the corner of her eye. "Couldn't ask for anything better."_

_"You know just how to stroke a person's ego."_

_"Comes with the job."_

_"Hmm, so I'm being played for my services?"_

_Lou straightens, walks over to pick up their phone and place the pizza order, winks at Debbie over her shoulder. Debbie hugs her tea, leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. She's feeling good. She's feeling better than good._

_"I've only ever been genuine with you."_


End file.
